


More Deeply Marked Than Love (N'oubliez pas Harry)

by thequidditchpitch_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Drama, Erotica, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Slash, The Quidditch Pitch: The Changing Room
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-04-10
Updated: 2006-04-10
Packaged: 2018-10-26 15:14:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10789239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequidditchpitch_archivist/pseuds/thequidditchpitch_archivist
Summary: Finally, the third in the Ron/Draco"Magic Immunity"series. Ron and Draco have been handfasted and are settled into their life with Severus and Xavier. But when Xavier begins talking to an imaginary Harry, Ron finds himself overwhelmed by unresolved feelings for his former best friend and insecurities in his role as parent and partner. Ron/Draco, unrequited past Ron/Harry.





	More Deeply Marked Than Love (N'oubliez pas Harry)

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

  
Author's notes: Much heartfelt gratitude to fungus_files for her thorough, insightful beta.

I was indulgent and gave this story both a title and subtitle: I was inspired to write this fourth in the Ron/Draco _"Magic Immunity"_ series by the song 'N'emmenes pas Harry' by The Stranglers; 'Don't Forget Harry' doesn't have the same ring to it as 'N'oubliez pas Harry.' I feel that Ron knows innately that his friendship with Harry transcended anything else he'd known until Draco and Xavier, when Ron opened himself up to be marked emotionally again, and loved.  


* * *

Vibrant ribbons of clouds slashed the otherwise dreary winter sky. The surprise of such a startling display captivated Ron, so he sat, transfixed, watching the hues sink into the nearby hills while his mug of hot chocolate grew cold. Like a lazy Seeker, his mind wandered around and around, from Seph's imminent visit, to the St. Mungo's patient with the pixiated hex, to snippets of George and Remus' row he'd accidentally heard, to a relatively recent vision of Draco in his swimming trunks, doing laps.  
  
The last element was worth a bit more ruminating. He'd watched his lover's streamlined form for some time slicing through the water, back and forth, seemingly tireless. Ron couldn't fathom anyone actually enjoying lap swimming, but it was Draco's favourite form of exercise. Xavier, for his part, jumped at any opportunity to go to the Manor and get into the pool with its charmed, perfectly tepid waters . Ron had gone into racquetball–playing withdrawal after returning from nearly six months in the U.S., and the only exercise he took was the occasional pick–up Quidditch match, or some guilt–induced sit ups. One couldn't really count playing Confounding Croquet as actual exercise, though when Xavier was involved, it practically became a contact sport.  
  
As though he knew Ron was thinking about him, Xavier's enthusiastic voice was suddenly audible in the big playroom down the corridor. Ron's brow furrowed. His nephew's outbursts in empty rooms had become more frequent in recent weeks, though Ron hadn't yet asked Xave about it. They were at the Manor, which was not an environment where Ron felt comfortable and even Draco kept to particular rooms and floors. Xavier, however, seemed at home no matter where he was. Ron swirled his cocoa to capture the chocolate that had settled at the bottom and tossed back the lukewarm contents. Apparently, it was time to check up on Xave.  
  
Ron ambled down the corridor, hanging back to listen to what Xavier was saying. He appeared to be having a conversation about… Ron.  
  
"Oh yes, he's been happy since Draco's back," Ron heard Xavier say. "Why don't you talk to him?"  
  
There was a pause. "Oh. Well, I'm glad you visit me."  
  
That comment shocked Ron into action. He stepped through the doorway, half–expecting to see some Malfoysian spectre hovering in the room. Draco had exorcised the Manor well before he and Ron began seeing each other, but Ron was convinced that there were still a few malcontented ghosts lurking about, waiting to startle non–familial guests.  
  
Xavier was sitting in a small chair with a piece of parchment in his lap, colouring. The walls were a silent cacophony of images, including a moving mural representing Charlie on the dragon reserve, done especially upon Xavier's request. The auburn–haired boy looked up and gave Ron a radiant smile. "Hi!"  
  
"Hi. Xavier, were you just talking to somebody?"  
  
"Yup. Harry Potter. Used to be your friend." He turned to gaze at a fort of chairs and blankets. "He's right there– you can't see him though, can you?"  
  
Ron felt a flush of heat followed by an icy tremor through his insides, and he had to force himself to keep his voice controlled. "You can't've been talking to Harry," he said, subduing the refreshed feelings of loss and devastation that had been overwhelming when Harry was killed. "He's dead." The fact that the anniversary of Harry's death was looming didn't help the timing of Xavier's pronouncement.  
  
"He's sitting on that chair," Xavier insisted, his dark brown eyes fixed on Ron's face. "Like a ghost, but different."  
  
"Xavier, this isn't funny." Ron's temper began sparking angry flashes behind his eyes. "I know that things haven't been easy since Percy died, but it's really not helpful to have imaginary friends."  
  
Xavier drew a bright red circle in the corner of his page, making the circle again and again until Ron thought he'd tear through the parchment. "He's not imaginary," Xavier said in a quiet but determined voice. "He's a good friend and he likes me to talk about my ideas. I want to be alone now."  
  
Ron nodded, having already decided to go and talk to Draco about this unexpected development. He stood and ruffled Xavier's hair. "I'll be with Draco for a bit, but I'll come and get you for some dessert, all right?"  
  
Xavier looked up at him, perking up at the thought of a post–dinner treat. "Okay. Will Uncle Snape read to me?"  
  
"Good question." To Ron's perception, Snape's manner rarely deviated from grumbling cynicism, but he knew that the former Potions Master had a very soft spot for Xavier. Draco, likewise, appeared to be unable to do wrong in the older man's eyes.  
  
Before he left the room, Ron stole a glance at Xavier's constructed hideaway. It was, of course, bereft of anything Harry–like.  
  
As Ron walked to the east wing library where Draco and Snape were most often ensconced when visiting the Manor, an old familiar sadness descended on him. It wasn't as though he ever forgot that Harry was gone. Over time, the absence of his best friend had instead become an integral part of who he was; 'Ron–without–Harry' was as uniquely identifying as the universe of freckles covering his skin. He and Draco had incorporated the presence of those dear to them who had died into their handfasting ceremony. He didn't rail and mope about the unfairness of Harry's death anymore, and he doubted that the topic of the Boy Who Sacrificed Everything would've been a common one in Percy and Primula's home.  
  
Entangled in his labyrinthine thoughts, Ron noticed with a start that he'd passed the cheery entrance to the library. He turned around, and walked back up the corridor to the open doors. Ron crossed the opulent carpet to a decanter and glasses and poured himself a healthy serving of scotch. His fondness for the liquor was one of only three things he and Snape shared; the other two, unsurprisingly, were Draco and Xavier.  
  
"You weren't lost, were you? I thought I saw you go past a minute ago," Draco said with an eyebrow raised in mock disbelief.  
  
"I was thinking," Ron said defensively, rising to the bait despite himself.  
  
"Merlin save us," Snape drawled, managing to look as composed and threatening as ever despite his lack of control over his twitching muscles.  
  
"Gorgeous sunset tonight," Ron commented to Draco, ignoring Snape's jibe. "Couldn't stop watching it. What've you been up to?" He dropped down on an intricately embroidered chaise, stretching his legs out and slouching into the plush upholstery.  
  
"Correspondence."  
  
Draco sealed a piece of parchment with nacreous blue–grey wax and pressed his signet ring into it with a flourish.  
  
"Hmph," Ron mumbled into his drink. "Say, you haven't been talking to Xave about Harry, have you?"  
  
Draco turned to look at Ron, his expression one of complete bafflement. "Nothing against Potter, of course, but no. Why on earth would you ask?"  
  
"Weasley has never needed a reason before to toss out stunning non sequiturs," Severus observed, taking a sip from a snifter that was levitated near his head.  
  
"I've a reason for asking," Ron said pointedly to Snape. "Xavier's decided he can see and talk to Harry. That Harry's some kind of ghost that only he can see."  
  
"That's odd," Draco said, arranging his rolls of parchment into an orderly phalanx of cream tubes.  
  
"How long has he spoken of this?" Severus asked, uncharacteristically intrigued by the conversation.  
  
"I only discussed it with him tonight," Ron said, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. "But I've been hearing him talk when he's alone for a while now. A few weeks, maybe."  
  
Draco got up from his writing desk and strode gracefully to Snape. He stood behind him, beginning to massage the older man's upper back. "What do you think, Severus?"  
  
Ron focused on Draco's strong fingers, so starkly pale against Snape's usual ebony dressing gown. He felt a perplexing mix of jealousy and tenderness; Ron honestly didn't mind that the dour man was living with them, but he did sometimes begrudge his partner's now divided affections. He decided that later in the evening he was going to remind Draco just how grateful he was that they were together. Truth be told, Ron really wanted to have Draco's fingers on _his_ skin, rubbing and stroking and–  
  
"…since his parents' deaths."  
  
_Oh, bollocks._ Ron hated it when he got distracted like that to the point of not even hearing conversations going on around him.  
  
"Some Seers don't discover their abilities until after a life–changing trauma. Perhaps Xavier is one of those," Severus went on as Ron attempted to fill in the gap of what he'd missed.  
  
"C'mon, you don't believe in that rubbish," Ron scoffed. "Even back in school, it was obvious you thought Trelawny was useless."  
  
"My family has had a few Seers," Draco said, holding his head up and looking loftily at Ron. "The real thing, of course."  
  
"But Xavier's not related to you at all."  
  
"No one implied that he is, nor that he is Seeing," Severus said slowly, as though Ron were dense. "Though given that the Malfoy and Weasley lines are both pureblood, I'm sure there are some not too distant kinships, as disturbing as that concept is."  
  
Ron rolled his eyes. "I think Xave is just making things up, though why he picked Harry, I don't have a clue. Maybe you missed a ghost before you moved back in, Draco."  
  
Draco huffed. "Not a chance. Besides, ghosts can't take phantom polyjuice to look like someone else." He stopped for a moment, leaning down to look at Snape. "Or can they?"  
  
A violent tremor shook Severus' right side. "Ask Lupin. My knowledge focused on the living, or mostly so," Severus said darkly. "Studying the dead who are unwilling to move on was never an interest of mine."  
  
"This might not be the best time to ask, but Xavier wondered whether or not you'd read to him tonight," Ron said, preparing himself for Snape's negative comeback.  
  
"Of course," Snape snapped, despite sinking into Draco's relaxing touch. "We'd only just begun _Night_ _Falls_ _on Nightshade._ I fully intend to keep his voracious mind occupied with subjects of substance until that relative of yours shows up. Persnickety, is it?"  
  
Draco rebuked Snape by thwapping him gently.  
  
"Persephone," Ron sighed in resignation. Snape tolerated Ron because Ron made Draco happy, but there were no illusions that the two would become close companions. "Thanks, Snape. I know Xavier really appreciates it."  
  
"Hi, Uncle Sev!" Xavier exclaimed in glee from the doorframe, evidently tired of self–entertaining.  
  
Ron still felt it was nothing short of an ironic miracle that Percy's son had an affectionate nickname for Snape, and that the former Potions Master absolutely relished it. Not that he'd ever said so aloud, of course, but it was obvious in his richly expressive voice.  
  
"Xavier. Did you bring your book?"  
  
"Yes, but I want to have dessert first. Do you?" Xavier looked expectantly at Severus.  
  
"That depends." Severus' dark eyebrows arched as he turned to Ron. "What's being served?"  
  
"Ice cream," Xavier stated emphatically.  
  
"Flissy will get Master Xavier some mickleberry ice cream," a house–elf said, popping into the room in the space between the boy and Snape's chair.  
  
"Thank you!"  
  
"I'll have a small serving as well," Severus said as Draco released the spell on the floating brandy and placed it on a side table before helping Snape to his feet.  
  
"Ron?" Draco inquired, leading the trio out of the library.  
  
"No thanks. Reckon I'll go read in our room." He downed the last of his drink and followed the small entourage until he reached the wing that contained Draco's childhood bedroom. On those rare occasions when Xavier was particularly interested in a sleepover at the estate, they remained only in rooms that Draco deemed satisfactorily purged of Dark Magic. Much of the Manor gave Ron the willies, but enough outpouring of erotic energy had been infused into this one room that he felt the most at home there.  
  
*** * * * ***  
  
After Xavier had been put to bed and Severus had retired into his occasionally–used chamber, Ron turned his attentions to Draco. A barmy, unrealistic and utterly irresistible idea had captured his imagination: he was going to whisk Draco off on a quick weekend jaunt to somewhere remote, just the two of them. The holidays and their accompanying chaos were fast looming, and Ron really missed exclusive time with Draco. Those moments had shrunk down to nearly nothing as their familial responsibilities continued their unpredictable and increasingly complicated evolution. He decided to plan the details the next day, to arrange for a mediwitch to look after Snape at their house, and to send Xavier either to the Burrow or George and Remus.  
  
"You seem a bit preoccupied," Draco said warily, despite Ron's olfactory worship of the heady scent captured in the hollow under Draco's arm.  
  
"Sorry," Ron apologised, twisting his head to swipe his tongue over one of Draco's sensitive nipples. "Got an idea, but I can't tell you about it yet."  
  
Draco released a throaty whimper as Ron teethed the nub, and then licked the reddened skin. "All right. I just want you to be _with_ me when we're together, if that makes sense. Oh Merlin," he gasped when Ron stretched his hand between their prone bodies to enfold Draco's cock.  
  
"I'm definitely with you," Ron assured his lover, rubbing his own needy erection against Draco's leg. "You're the sexiest man I know. I don't ever intend to take you for granted."  
  
They kissed deeply for a few moments, their tongues sliding in well–practised, intimate patterns that never failed to stoke Ron's arousal. It continually astonished him that his desire for his bondmate kept increasing, but then again, Draco was incomparable to anyone he had ever known.  
  
"Good," Draco breathed open mouthed against Ron's lips. "I'm certainly worth lavishing attention on."  
  
"And so undemanding," Ron said, the dash of loving sarcasm swallowed as Draco claimed his mouth.  
  
"Not to be too demanding, but can we have sex?" Draco asked a few moments later.  
  
"You're keen." Ron squeezed Draco's length in his hand, earning a guttural moan. "Would you mind topping?"  
  
"Mind? Hardly," Draco said, handling Ron's cock and pulling on it slowly, the way Ron adored the most. "Any special occasion I should know about?"  
  
He ran his thumb over the head and Ron arched against Draco's pelvis. Until he and Draco had gotten together, Ron had never bottomed, and even then, they'd been seeing each other well over a year before he was ready to try.  
  
"No, not really. Just want to remind you that I'm all yours."  
  
"All mine," Draco purred before biting his way down Ron's torso and lavishing his attentions between Ron's spread legs. Ron writhed and ran his fingers through Draco's hair, mussing it with greedy fingers until the blond strands resembled nothing so much as a frizzy mane.  
  
"Mmmmmph," Draco rumbled around Ron's cock. With a slurping noise he lifted his mouth and shook his head. "I'm glad you appreciate my skill, but your pulling at my scalp really hurts."  
  
"Sorry."  
  
"I'm sure I'll recover," Draco said, sitting up to straddle Ron and planing his hands on Ron's chest. "But perhaps you'd be better off if you were completely at my mercy."  
  
"Wanna tie me up, do you?"  
  
Ron meant it as a joke; they'd done so before and, granted, it'd been hot as hell, but he didn't think Draco was really in the mood for bedroom theatrics. An uncharacteristic impish smile settled on Draco's lips.  
  
"That might be just the ticket," he said, tugging none too gently on Ron's nipples.  
  
"No, really," Ron said, enticed by Draco's wiry body above him. "I was going to focus on you."  
  
"I would argue that letting me use your body to achieve my pleasure is exactly that." Draco raised his hand in front of Ron's mouth and with two swipes, Ron licked the palm. Eyes half–closed, Draco shifted his weight to lean back, stroking himself while still pressing his groin against Ron's.  
  
"You are so fucking sexy," Ron moaned, having lowered his palms to place them on Draco's spread thighs.  
  
"Good thing we loathed each other in school or we'd have had quite a time trying to find places to do things like this." Draco ran his tongue along his teeth, gave Ron a look suffused with lust, and dropped his hands alongside Ron's legs to scoot himself backward. "You brought lube?"  
  
"I reckon." Ron nodded, achingly turned on by Draco's domineering actions.  
  
"Get it."  
  
"You could just cast a spell," Ron suggested, not wanting to have to go look for the stuff. He wanted to stay as close to Draco as possible.  
  
"Such a recusant," Draco drawled before licking at one of Ron's sacs. "If this is about pleasing me, I'd like to use my lubricant."  
  
"Fine," Ron agreed, despite hating the thought of leaving his lover and tromping through the Manor in his robe. He started to sit up, but froze when he found himself inexplicably staring at the end of Draco's hastily drawn wand. "Did I say something wrong?"  
  
"No, though you appear to have forgotten your summoning spells," Draco said with an arched eyebrow. "And I'm enjoying playing the alpha. I do believe that I'll bind you."  
  
Ron gave that a few moments of titillating thought as the lube was _Accio_ 'ed from a coat rack at least two corridors away. After that he eased into the physical sensations of having his wrists tied to the bedposts while his legs were left free. Ron shut his eyes in anticipatory bliss as a fragrant alder tree scent wafted from the vial. He really shouldn't allow Draco to do this; he should use wandless magic to untie himself and ravage his partner, shag him senseless, forget this 'Draco in charge' path they'd ended up going down…  
  
Thought of what should or shouldn't be done was trampled under the onslaught of Draco's erotic prowess. Hot, wet mouth and tongue and lips sucking, licking, the slippery, warm fingers that gently stretched him open; oh, _that_ spot inside him, just _there_ that made him make those embarrassing, desperate sounds; the initial pain, easing into desired fullness and the stream of delicious, profane adoration falling from Draco's lips. Ron was at first cautiously, then relentlessly thrust into; he pulled in vain on his restraints, wanting more, pushing his hips up from the bed to take more of his lover, more of his husky voice repeating, "Love fucking you, so hot, so tight, all mine." Draco's slicked hand wild and possessive on Ron's throbbing erection and moaning, thrashing; the perfect tension had built – _not yet – oh fuck_ –  
  
"Gods, Draco!" Ron yelled as his release fountained over Draco's hand and he clenched and clenched.  
  
When he was able to open his eyes again, Ron looked up at Draco, his pale face flushed and far too concentrated.  
  
"You haven't—" Ron began.  
  
"I'm very close," Draco interrupted, wiping his hand on the sheet and crouching over the covers as Ron raised his legs. Draco pulled them over his shoulders, grasping at Ron's strong thighs below his knees. He thrust into Ron a few more times until his orgasm overtook him and he came silently, his head thrown back, mouth open and chest heaving.  
  
Ron couldn't help but stare unabashedly at Draco, who slowly lowered his head, an expression of sated awe shining on his face. When a knowing smile bloomed on Draco's reserved features, Ron fought the catch in his throat and ridiculous urge to cry. The unexpected fragility Draco shared with him felt like a gift. Ron savoured each instance as a precious thing, as though he might lose them if not hoarded in his heart.  
  
"I want—" Ron croaked before clearing his throat and trying again. "I want to be able to hold you."  
  
Draco let out a deep breath and nodded, lowering Ron's legs and carefully easing out of him. Within moments he'd undone the binding spell and lay nestled against Ron's chest.  
  
"You felt amazing," Draco said in a reverent voice, pulling Ron's left hand to him to kiss the palm and playfully lick at his handfasting band. "I love having a lion in bed."  
  
"Love you," Ron replied, threading fingers so their rings softly clinked. Ron's uncomfortable vulnerability ebbed away as their breaths lengthened and he edged toward sleep. A warmth drifted over his shoulder and he snuggled gratefully next to Draco.  
  
*** * * * ***  
  
A few days later Ron was on their porch, enduring the winter chill in order to enjoy an illicit cigarette — or four. With a charmed teacup in the other hand, he sat engrossed in a sea of memories. It always happened to some degree this time of year when Harry's death was memorialised by all sorts of official ceremonies and gatherings. Ron would go to a few, the ones that he knew he'd catch hell from Hermione for if he didn't attend. On top of that, Snape had also been acting rather like a bastard, insinuating with no subtlety that the reason Xavier had picked Harry as his new invisible friend was because Ron must be going on about him. That wasn't the case. Ron darkly suspected that Snape was trying to force some wedge between Draco and him, given the man's disapproval of their relationship. Draco appeared to be ignoring Snape's attempts to make Draco feel he had reason to be jealous or worried. Today Ron was haunted by a particular evening, one of the last times he'd been alone with Harry. It had been an opportunity to be fully honest and Ron had let it escape. For that reason, he could never forgive himself.  
  
They'd been at one of the makeshift infirmary tents, a tiny one set up for quick fixes, not often used at that late point in the War. Harry had been exhausted, rubbing at his shoulders while Ron, certainly a junior Healer but awake and available, tended to some gashes on Harry's legs.  
  
_"When I get done with this, let me give you a backrub. Bet your muscles are stretched tighter than our Healer's supplies," Ron joked.  
  
Harry gave a sympathetic snort. "No doubt. That'd be brilliant, if you really don't mind. Goes far beyond the line of duty."  
  
Ron paused before ignoring his inner censor and spoke exactly what he felt.  
  
"I'd do anything for you, Harry."  
  
Ron looked up, expecting Harry to come back with some sort of banter. Even though it was clear that they were close to defeating Voldemort, people were still being killed each day. In defiance of that, he and Harry kept their conversations fairly shallow for the most part, but now a thoughtful, expansive expression warmed Harry's features.  
  
"I know you would, Ron. I hope to Merlin you don't have to, but I think I know what you mean."  
  
Harry placed his hand on Ron's shoulder and for a blinding moment, Ron thought, _ He knows. And it's okay. _  
  
"I couldn't have done this," Harry gestured vaguely at the tent, "gotten through all of the insanity and pain and loneliness, not without you. You're my best friend, fucking rock of stability. My brother, really."  
  
Ron's heart sank. _ Oblivious, _he realised._ He really doesn't see it. _  
  
"Thanks," Ron said, his voice heavy with the weight of words unsaid. "I'll protect you or die trying."  
  
"It's almost over," Harry said in a hoarse whisper, squeezing at Ron's shoulder.  
  
They stayed like that for a few seconds until a muscle in Harry's back twinged and he winced.  
  
"Hey. Let me give you that backrub," Ron insisted after giving the wounds he'd cleaned and sutured a last, satisfactory glance.  
  
"You really don't have to," Harry said, but he was already taking off his sweat– and grime–encrusted shirt.  
  
"Just lie down, you lug."  
  
Ron arranged himself so he was kneeling at Harry's head, rubbing from the tops of Harry's shoulders over his shoulder blades and down the center of his muscular, but thin frame.  
  
"Ron, oh that feels beyond amazing. You should've been doing this weeks ago," Harry mumbled into his crumpled shirt.  
  
"We didn't have time," Ron observed ruefully. He spent at least a half–hour massaging the many knots and sore spots on Harry's back, content in the occasional pleased noises Harry made. While gently toiling at the evidence of Harry's tension, Ron worked up the courage to say the seven words he longed so desperately to voice — I love you, Harry, no matter what — and gave a last deep circle with his fingers when he heard the unmistakable sound of Harry's light snore.  
  
_ Well, fuck. _  
  
After rummaging through several stacks of discarded field supplies, Ron found a blanket. He covered Harry with it and sat down, wand at the ready, keeping vigil as Harry soundly slept._  
  
Ron jumped, brought quickly back to the present when he heard an unexpected _crack!_ of someone Apparating mere feet away. He sloshed his tea and nearly dropped his cigarette.  
  
"Hell's harpies, George! What're you doing here?"  
  
George grinned wickedly at him and the nearly–smoked fag. "Monitoring your progress on quitting smoking." He drew up a chair and turned it around, straddling it and looking expectantly at Ron. "I see it's coming along stupendously."  
  
"Piss off. Really," he said irritably. "What're you doing here?"  
  
"Thought I'd go with you to meet this Persephone girl," George said, placing his feet on the table and crossing his ankles.  
  
Ron took a last drag on his cigarette and crushed it under his foot. "What about the shop?"  
  
"Zap's covering for me. And I just wanted to get away."  
  
Ron stood up . "Let's go inside. It's freezing."  
  
In the kitchen, Ron put his mug in the sink with a light thud.  
  
"Not to pry, but are things okay with you and Remus?" Ron asked as they went into the living room. He grabbed a handful of Floo powder, intending to use the network to get to the International Portkey terminal.  
  
"Been better. Doesn't help that you have Snape around all the time. Spending time with him makes Remus moodier, and he didn't need any help in that regard."  
  
"Hey– taking Snape out of St. Mungo's wasn't my idea," Ron said defensively. "And even you must admit that you two aren't exactly the most likely of blokes to get together in the first place."  
  
George turned on him. "Oh, and you and Mr. Junior Death Eater would've been listed as Predicted Couple of the Year by _Witch's Weekly_ ," he said, sarcasm oozing in the words.  
  
"Bollocks! No need to bite my bloody head off," Ron fumed. "I was just asking. Remind me not to give an arse about you next time."  
  
They stood in strained silence, each clenching their powder and waiting for the other brother to strike.  
  
"Maybe you should stay," Ron said finally, turning back to the fireplace. "Seph thinks you're great and hasn't even met you yet. I don't want her first five minutes in England to be spent having her expectations crushed by psycho–moody George. Hell, I haven't seen you like this in yonks."  
  
George contemplated for a minute, then straightened his shoulders. "I'll get over it," he said, resigned. "We've just been together for a while, y'know, and usually it's good, but then he's just– well, Remus. He is a werewolf, can't forget that, and then he gets off on how he's too old for me, and I just want to maul some sense into him."  
  
Ron stood mutely, unaccustomed to hearing so much about George's personal life, and not at all sure what to do with the unexpected trust. He took a deep breath. "Let's go. There's a Yank Weasley waiting to meet her extended family. Just don't break her heart, okay?"  
  
With a blazing smile and wink, George nodded. "Twin's honour."  
  
Ron rolled his eyes. "Fat lot of good that is."  
  
"Lighten up, little bro," George said. "Family's family. You've been around Malfoy too long– you've forgotten that you don't have to take things so seriously."  
  
"Don't start with Draco," Ron growled.  
  
"C'mon," George cajoled. "Don't want to be late. Ginny'll kill us if she finds out we weren't there when this distant relation showed up, and you know what she's like these days."  
  
"A nightmare."  
  
"Exactly."  
  
Ron looked at George's sympathetic face, and any residual anger crept away. They'd never been that close, but they understood each other well enough. He tipped his head toward the fireplace. "After you."  
  
*** * * * ***  
  
_Christmastime really isn't too awful,_ Ron mused several days later over a large tumbler of firewhiskey. Their house was an extravaganza of red and green lights, with a bonus festive dragon theme, chosen especially by Xavier. Ron suspected that while Percy had been a doting father, he'd also restrained Xavier's impetuous, playful manner, so different from Percy's own demeanour. As Uncle and guardian, Ron allowed the boy free rein with his flights of fancy, often stunned at the complexity of his imaginative pursuits.  
  
Seph was also visiting this evening, adding to the exuberant chaos in Ron and Draco's home. Xavier had developed an obvious crush on her, following as close as a shadow. Thankfully, she took it in her stride and neither made fun of him nor asked him to leave her alone. Once George and Remus had arrived, George had taken it upon himself to teach her the Weasley–rules version of Exploding Snap. For the past half hour, she, George and Xavier sat near the fireplace listening to holiday music, and thoroughly enjoying themselves in the raucous game.  
  
Ron was so absorbed in watching the trio that he was startled when Remus sat down next to him.  
  
"Xavier seems to go for older women," Remus joked, easing against the couch cushions and adjusting his waistcoat.  
  
"Well, he didn't get it from me," Ron said good–humouredly. "But being a Weasley, he does have good taste."  
  
"Kind of you to say." He cocked his eyebrow and gave Ron a small, gracious smile before sipping some of George's eggnog. "Severus says that Xavier thinks he's been seeing Harry."  
  
Ron let out a frustrated snort. "Right. Not an imaginary friend his age, but he's focused on Harry. I just can't figure it out." He swirled his drink, watching the ice cubes chase each other in a circle. "Not a big thing, though," he said, more to himself than to Remus. The truth was that it had turned into an inappropriate fixation, one Ron wished would pass quickly. "I'm sure he'll grow out of being naïve like that. When I was young, Fred and George had me convinced that there was a hidden box of Galleons that could only be found by someone who could perfectly make up a bed. You can guess how generous I thought they were to let me practice on theirs. For weeks."  
  
Remus gave Ron a pitying look. "I'm glad you survived your childhood not too much the worse for wear. George has told me that he and Fred used themselves for testers of their many products, but somehow I suspect he's chosen not to fill me in on which other family members may have been unwitting volunteers."  
  
"Nice way to put it," Ron said, changing the direction of his hand motion so the liquid now circled clockwise. "So what am I supposed to do about Xavier? Anything?" he asked before downing the drink and setting the glass on the floor.  
  
"Unless he starts talking to Harry all of the time, I wouldn't think—"  
  
"Ron!" Draco's voice cut through the din of music. Ron jerked his head toward the sound and saw Draco posing regally in the doorframe, Xavier holding his hand. Persephone was next to them, leaning toward Draco with a moony smile on her face. George still sat on the floor, showing off by shuffling his cards from one hand to the next across his lap in a blurring arc.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Xavier and I are going to show Persephone our celestiascope. Just thought you should know."  
  
Ron gave a mock salute. "I'll keep an eye on dinner."  
  
Draco pursed his lips. "Please, do that," he said, a thread of irritation in his voice. The small group left the room and Ron returned his attentions to Remus.  
  
"Y'know," Ron mused, "I think I'm a crap host."  
  
Remus snorted into his wine. "Well, I'd beg to differ. Mind if I join you in the kitchen? I'd be more useful there than here." He glanced over at George, now intently creating what appeared to be an igloo out of his cards.  
  
"Sure." Ron shrugged, pushing up from the couch and retrieving his tumbler. As they got the dinner prepared, their conversation meandered from Ron's internship program at St. Mungo's to Ron's relationship with Harry in school.  
  
"Do you know why it bothers you so much that Xavier thinks he sees Harry? Not to be nosy, but does it bring up something unresolved from when you were younger? I do know a little something about things like that," Remus said pointedly, mashing the boiled potatoes with gusto.  
  
"What, me and Harry?" Ron's daily ruminations tumbled like boulders as he struggled about whether or not to entrust the truth to Remus. For all that Harry understood, he hadn't been fully able to fathom how Ron's feelings had settled, like the turning in a kaleidoscope; the coloured bits had fallen into place differently for Ron, creating a masculine, confusing pattern.  
  
"No." The lie felt pasty and thick on Ron's tongue. He drank another Firewhiskey to try and rid the taste of untruth from his mouth while Remus steered the conversation over to George being overworked by his dual jobs at Wheeze's and Hogwarts.  
  
"Not to be daft, but what do you see in him?" Ron asked, realising as soon as he'd asked the question that he probably needed to add water to any future drinks he had.  
  
"George? Well, too much to say," Remus hedged, twisting his handfasting band. "George would probably wonder the same about your thoughts on Draco," he said diplomatically. "But I suspect that such topics aren't really what we want to talk about tonight. I think this duck is just about perfect; I'll go and find the others." He gave Ron a warm pat on the shoulder as he passed. Ron cursed at himself for speaking before thinking, yet again.  
  
*** * * * ***  
  
Much later, after their guests had gone home, Ron lounged unobtrusively in Xavier's doorway. He watched Draco as he spoke gently to Xave, who had precious little interest in going to sleep. The boy recounted all of the constellations that he could remember seeing, reliving Seph's reactions to being shown them in the celestiascope. Draco listened patiently, finally scooting down the bed so that he lay on his side, drawing on Xavier's back with his fingers.  
  
Ron's head sank with a slight thump against the wood. It was as though Draco had swallowed the stars he'd gazed at earlier, his pale skin unnaturally luminous in the red light of Xavier's dragon lamp near his bed. The white hand stroked up and down Xavier's spine, stopping occasionally to draw ever–widening swirls on his narrow shoulder blades.  
  
_You're not good enough to deserve this,_ Ron thought to himself. He sagged into the doorframe before shuffling quietly away to their bedroom, putting himself to bed with equal parts self–loathing and bottomless gratitude. He awoke hours later, needing to tend to his insistent bladder. Once back in bed, he spooned behind Draco, his relief at his partner's presence such that he shivered for several minutes until he fell asleep again, his thumb tucked under Draco's waistband.  
  
*** * * * ***  
  
"Wake up, wake up! I'm hungry!"  
  
The jolting words were accompanied by the force of Xavier jumping on the bed, narrowly missing Ron's calves.  
  
"Xave, stop that," Ron grunted, shielding himself from his nephew's enthusiasm.  
  
"I've taught you how to make perfect toast," Draco added grumpily, also not a morning person. "Go on, and bring us back some while you're at it."  
  
"Hmmmph!" Xavier sulked, arms crossed in what was meant to be a menacing stance, though it was tempered by his choice of attire.  
  
"What are you wearing?" Ron tilted his head up from the pillow, bringing himself up on one elbow. "Is that a skirt?"  
  
"It's a kilt," Xavier said emphatically. "Would you like something on your toast?" he asked more kindly of Draco.  
  
"Boysenberry preserves. Thank you so much for asking," Draco replied, giving Xavier a bleary but heartfelt smile.  
  
Xavier bounced off the bed to the floor, heading toward the kitchen at a half–skip. The two men watched him exit the room before Ron sank back into the sheets, shaking his head.  
  
"First, he's drawing all the time. Then he won't let go of that ridiculous idea about a butterfly aviary. Now he's prancing around the house in a sodding skirt. What if we're influencing him so that he becomes…" Ron's voice trailed off, retreating under Draco's menacing glare.  
  
"If you say 'a bloody poof like me,' you'll be sleeping on the couch for at least a year," Draco seethed, now fully awake and on the warpath. "I don't care that we're handfasted, I will _not_ have our son being raised by someone who is so insecure and guilt–ridden about his own sexuality."  
  
Despite remembering all too keenly just how needy he'd been the night before, Ron's defensive anger began heating up. "Xavier is _my_ nephew. You weren't even sure that you wanted to have children at all!" he growled, even though his more logical senses were screaming at him to shut up immediately before he said anything truly damaging.  
  
Draco's nostrils flared as he paused, his mutinous gaze boring into Ron. For a fleeting moment of hysteria, Ron wondered if he'd pushed Draco too far, and was about to be hexed into some unfathomable, horrific realm of Dark Magic.  
  
"You agreed to be Xavier's guardian without even asking me first."  
  
"We weren't handfasted then," Ron said defensively. "I wanted Xave. But, I mean, not the way that it happened. I always wanted kids. I might've thought Percy was a royal prick, but I never wanted him to be dead."  
  
"It was a major decision, and we were quite serious about being together, even if we hadn't had a ceremony," Draco reminded him, sitting up and grasping his fingers in an inverted steeple, the digits clenched tightly in his palms. "We hadn't discussed the possibility of whether or not we wanted to be parents, but somehow I knew you just assumed that I'd be against the idea, even though you'd never asked me. Merlin!"  
  
Draco sat up cross–legged, and looking at Ron in a way that made Ron's insides churn in a manner reminiscent to when he'd spewed slugs so many years ago.  
  
"I'm very much at peace with who I am, the way that I choose to live my life, and most of the time, with my choice of mate." Draco's expression softened. "Xavier is one of the best things that's ever happened to me." After a pause, the openness in his face vanished, and Ron winced, berating himself before his partner had the opportunity. "He will be whatever he wishes to be," Draco threatened, "and if it so happens that he's a artistic, butterfly–raising, kilt–wearing shirtlifter, then by Merlin, he will, and I'll love him for it."  
  
The words clipped the air, and Ron felt his anger eviscerated by them. Failure seeped in through the wounds to his pride.  
  
"What about me?"  
  
Furrows creased between Draco's eyebrows. "What do you mean?"  
  
Ron rubbed at his temples. "I guess I thought that I'd be included as one of the best things that ever happened to you. But I suppose I tend to get things like that wrong, sometimes."  
  
Draco pursed his lips. "We go back a long way, Ron, and we've had a checkered past, to be polite about it. I'm the one who asked you to be handfasted, you'll remember. It just drives me fucking insane that you're constantly needing somebody to tell you you're okay. That you're doing the right thing."  
  
Looking at Draco's frustrated visage, Ron felt a fog of hopelessness roll through him, cold and porous. "Well, I'll just go then," he said woodenly. It was obvious he was nothing but a hindrance. Draco was a better parent; once he'd settled on his decision to return, he'd thrown himself into the role of co–guardian like a zealot. Ron loved Xavier unconditionally, but at times he did feel totally inadequate. Besides, Percy would find a way to curse him from beyond the grave if Xave turned out to be a gay Slytherin, Ron just knew it.  
  
Then again, Ron was bound to a gay Slytherin. He loved Draco. Draco was sick of him. He'd obviously be doing them all a favour if he left.  
  
"Ron. For Merlin's sake, stop being a self–indulgent drama queen," Draco said, smoothly unfurling until he lay prone at Ron's side. "Don't even consider going anywhere. You're an exceptional Healer, an incredible parent and just thinking about how much you adored me to get that dragon tattoo makes me want to be naked and buggered senseless by you."  
  
"What does buggered mean?" Xavier's voice innocently carried from the doorway where he stood, a jumbled pile of browned bread on a plate in his hands.  
  
"How long have you been standing there?" Ron asked, flustered and peeved. Though it'd been years since he'd left the Burrow, he'd never fully recovered from a childhood with precious little privacy and Fred and George's constant meddling.  
  
"Not long," Xavier said quickly, shifting his weight from foot to foot. "You said I could ask you any question and you'd answer it, no matter what. Didn't he, Draco?"  
  
A devious smile swelled on Draco's lips. "I'm sure he did, though I'm guessing he regrets it now."  
  
Ron made a pitiful moan in agreement.  
  
"C'mon up here with us," Draco suggested, sitting up and patting a space between himself and Ron. Soon Xavier was ensconced under the covers, the three of them resting against the headboard, munching on perfectly crisp toast and preserves.  
  
"Buggered," Xavier said formally through a mouthful of bread. "I know it's a bad word." He looked meaningfully at Ron. "You yell it. And that other word."  
  
"Your Uncle Ron has a foul mouth, quite right," Draco agreed, winking at Ron.  
  
"No fair ganging up on me!" Ron insisted, shoving gently against Xavier. "It's true, when I get mad I say 'fuck' a lot."  
  
Xavier began giggling uncontrollably.  
  
"But that's not a word I ever want to hear coming out of your mouth," Ron went on. "So you know, Draco's actually much worse than I am, he's just quieter about it."  
  
"Bugger is another word for having sex," Draco said blandly.  
  
Xavier gasped, before biting down on his lower lip.  
  
"It's a particular kind of sex," Draco continued, delicately brushing crumbs off of his lap and on to the floor. "When two men make love, it's a bit different than when a man and a woman are together."  
  
Ron stared dumbfounded at Draco. "Isn't Xave a little young to be having this talk?" he asked, his discomfort obvious in his voice. "And shouldn't you and I have discussed it first?"  
  
"Nothing like a little spontaneity, Ron," Draco said with a suave head tilt. "Do you have any other questions, Xavier?"  
  
The child appeared to be rendered speechless for a moment. "You and Uncle Ron can't make babies, can you?"  
  
Ron blanched. "No, we can't. Not together."  
  
"Do you wish you had a brother of sister? I did, when I was your age," Draco confided. "I'm an only child, you know."  
  
Xavier nodded. "I know. Uncle Sev told me you used to feel lonely, so it's okay when I do, too."  
  
"He told you that, did he?"  
  
Xavier's auburn hair bounced as he nodded vigorously. "I don't really want a brother or sister. I like having Seph here. How long will she stay?" The last question was aimed at Ron, who had barely recovered from a repressed coughing fit brought on by the visual image of Snape being in cahoots with a seven year old.  
  
"She's here for the spring term, but she'll be up at Hogwarts once they're back in school. She's barely a relative, the connection is so distant," Ron acknowledged, licking his thumb before cleaning a stray glob of scarlet preserves from the corner of Xavier's mouth.  
  
"I like her," Xavier pronounced. "I'm going to marry her, when I'm older."  
  
"Perhaps you're a bit young to decide serious things like that," Draco said, subsequently bearing the full brunt of Xavier's glare. "Your Uncle Ron and I absolutely despised each other at Hogwarts, and called each other some pretty nasty names. Did you know that?"  
  
"No," Xavier said, awestruck. "Did you hate Harry too?"  
  
"More than just about anything."  
  
"Did he hate you back?"  
  
Draco nodded solemnly. "Most definitely."  
  
Ron opened his mouth to say something in his former best friend's defense, then decided it wasn't worth having another battle right then.  
  
Xavier took a few moments to mull that over. "When do we get to make cookies?"  
  
"Are you and Draco doing some baking today?" Ron asked in relief at the abrupt change of topic as he got out of the bed and pulled on a cardigan.  
  
"Yes. And Persephone," Xavier said slowly, lingering over each syllable.  
  
"Oh, Xave, I'm sure that Seph has all kinds of other things she'll want to do the day before Christmas."  
  
"She said it'd be cool."  
  
Ron fixed Draco with a wary look. "I don't suppose you were around to monitor this invitation?"  
  
"I wasn't, but I did speak with her later and told her she was under no obligation to come over today. She insisted that she wanted to."  
  
Shaking his head, Ron wandered toward the bathroom. "She's certainly getting the full Weasley treatment. Oy!" He swung around, looking hopefully at Draco. "You going to make some of those super–secret Malfoy triple chocolate ones?"  
  
"I suppose I could be persuaded," Draco replied lasciviously.  
  
"I'm sure I could come up with some kind of thanks."  
  
"You do that."  
  
With a lighter heart than he'd felt in weeks, Ron hummed as he set to his shaving.  
  
*** * * * ***  
  
"Another Christmas at the Burrow– survived," Draco said with a shadow of a lisp. He almost never drank to excess, but Ron had noticed that the holidays, spent with Ron's extended family, tended to push him into overindulgence.  
  
"Wasn't that bad really, was it?" Ron asked, affectionately dragging his fingers up and down his lover's torso. The room verged on sweltering; Draco had cast a heating charm and lay sprawled wantonly in between Ron's legs, his back to Ron's chest.  
  
"Such tragic, unrequited love," Draco sighed dramatically, ignoring the question and taking another drink of champagne. "Xave mooning over Persephone, Persephone looking longingly at me."  
  
"I thought she'd have a crush on George," Ron mused, circling one of Draco's nipples.  
  
Draco moaned as the nub hardened under Ron's attentions. "Oh please. I'm far more attractive," he said throatily, arching upward against Ron's hand.  
  
"And incredibly sexy." Between his thumb and forefinger, Ron tugged on the hard flesh, eliciting a hiss from Draco. Seeing evidence of his lover's arousal, Ron put down his drink so he had both hands free to roam Draco's body.  
  
"You still think so?" Draco gasped as Ron's hand slid underneath the elastic of Draco's pants to encircle the hard shaft.  
  
"More than ever," Ron rumbled into Draco's ear. With his tongue he explored the sensitive skin before delving inside. Draco undulated under Ron's ministrations, his needy moans bringing an edge to Ron's own desires. Ron prided himself a bit, relishing the way he could render Draco incomprehensible by a practised thumbing of the tender, hooded skin of his cock. Draco shamelessly rocked his hips, sliding his erection in Ron's willing grasp. Draco's arm tumbled across the detritus of the rumpled bedcovering, his clenched fist echoing the tension in his groin.  
  
"You're all mine," Ron breathed, tugging up and down, fondling Draco's furred sacs with his other hand.  
  
"Yesssssss," Draco hissed, the sibilants swallowed by the musky heat of the air around them. "Ron. Want more. I need more," he begged, spreading his legs so his damp calves draped over Ron's shins. The bed creaked, the sound ricocheting off the Chudley Cannon poster–covered walls.  
  
"Silencing spell first, and lube," Ron said, regretfully switching hands on his lover's cock so he could retrieve his wand. He probably should've cast a _Silencio_ when they first settled in. Given that they'd both been somewhat inebriated and very aroused, finer details like that had slipped his mind.  
  
Once secure in the belief that no one else in the Burrow could hear them, Ron slicked both hands and focused on bringing his lover as much pleasure as he could bear – and then some. His own cock throbbed against Draco's back; smelling Draco's lust made Ron impossibly hard, but he wanted to satisfy Draco first. He established a steady rhythm around Draco's shaft before sliding a finger into the clenching entrance.  
  
"Oh Merlin," Draco moaned, twisting his head against Ron's and pulling his arms up to clasp a hold of the headboard behind them. Ron felt like a virtuoso playing a complicated, beautiful instrument; a crook of his fingers _there_ and Draco arched his chest, panting and emitting a torrent of adulations that fell gratefully on Ron's ears. He buried his face against the platinum haze of Draco's hair, two fingers pistoning in the tight channel of his lover's arse. Ron smiled at the shaking bed, the muffled thumping sounds being made when Draco alternately thrust into Ron's hand and pushed back onto Ron's fingers inside him.  
  
"Ron, I'm coming, I'm coming, I'm…"  
  
Warm, viscous fluid flowed over Ron's fingers as he milked Draco's erection, wary of how sensitised the skin would be. There was such a knife–edge after orgasm between pleasure and pain; Ron hadn't probed too much into Draco's sexual past but he knew that he'd done some exploration in realms of mastery and subservience, neither of which held any interest to Ron.  
  
"You're fucking incredible," Draco sighed, slumping against Ron and letting his legs splay bonelessly on Ron's thighs. "What'd I do to deserve you?"  
  
Ron scooched his hips against Draco's slick back, trapping his cock between their bodies. "Finally got lucky, I guess," he said, feeling Draco slide his shoulder blades from side to side against Ron's torso, like a peacock fanning its feathers.  
  
"I don't believe in luck. No matter. There's something I want to do for you in thanks," Draco said, his voice infused with promise.  
  
Moments later, Ron gripped the headboard behind him as he watched Draco take his painfully hard cock in his mouth. Ron's mind shut down while Draco licked and sucked and Ron felt as though the Hogwarts Express had run him over and he was on that turning point and tension rushed out and there were tiny dancing red sparks behind his eyelids and oh and _ohohohohDraco_ and at last he was breathing again.  
  
"Can I keep you?" Ron gasped, prying his hands off of the bed so he could haul Draco up to his chest.  
  
"Bit late for questions like that," Draco purred, licking Ron's pebbled nipple so he groaned. "Happy Christmas, yet again. Let's get some sleep."  
  
"Too right," Ron agreed, shivering for a second as Draco cast a cleaning spell on the both of them and the wreckage of sheets and blankets. Once dressed for bed, the warming spell was undone, allowing in a crisp breath of air from the crack underneath the door. Ron kept his back to the wall, an arm draped over Draco's ribcage, hand clasped against Draco's chest.  
  
"I love you," Ron whispered sleepily into Draco's scalp, nuzzling his nose against the fine hair.  
  
"You too."  
  
*** * * * ***  
  
A few days before New Year's, Ron was back at work. After scanning his Summary of Care, Ron signed the piece of parchment and added it to the collection in a nearby white folder. The final official document had the decency not to flutter around as the others had; he wasn't certain, but Ron sensed that the paper used for death certificates was made from a substance which specifically resisted animation charms. With a resigned sigh, Ron added his bold but messy signature, the third and last before going to the Head of Hospital. A border of two gold lines appeared around the edges of the document before it vanished, leaving Ron and the sheet–covered body beside him. Looking around the pristine room, he was grateful that he didn't need to visit the morgue very often. Only a handful of his patients had died, nearly always due to natural causes, not the curses inflicted on them that had put them under his care in the first place. He'd seen Fred and Percy for the last time surrounded by these sterile, pale walls.  
  
But not Harry…  
  
A memo agitatedly bouncing on his head stirred Ron out of his morbid contemplation. "What is it?" he asked grumpily, grabbing the piece of parchment and unrolling the vivid orange Ôurgent' notice. "Oh! They're already here!"  
  
He glanced at his watch which confirmed he was indeed late to meet his guests. He shoved the note into his robes pocket and made his way to the main visiting area of St. Mungo's. A small welcoming committee was there to meet him.  
  
"Sorry I'm late," Ron apologised. "I had to finish up some paperwork."  
  
"It's all right," Persephone said brightly. "You ready to give us a tour?"  
  
"Us?" He looked at Draco and Xavier, both of whom knew St. Mungo's all too well.  
  
"I want to go, too," Xavier said, stepping over so that he was nearly standing on Persephone's shoes.  
  
"I'm merely here as a chaperone," Draco said, draping his arm across Persephone's shoulder. She turned her head to give him a luminous smile. It took tremendous self–control, but Ron managed not to roll his eyes. "Well, I'm also going to check with Healer Sugnuf about Severus' medications. Apparently, there have been some recent unexpected results in this cactus work of Longbottom's, and there's a possibility it could help with the tremors."  
  
"Didn't know you were keeping up with Neville." Ron leaned over the vast counter, beckoning to the attendant Wizard. "Mind if I have three guest tags?"  
  
"I'm not," Draco said blithely, pulling one of his Muggle pens from the New York culinary institute out of his jacket pocket and writing his name on the proffered tag. "Granger told me. She's also got a kneazle in her knickers about me writing an article for this new Hogwarts Alumni mag rubbish she won't let up about."  
  
"The what?" Ron felt as though he were back at school, sitting down to a test and realising he'd missed a month of classes. Since when had Hermione and Draco been in contact? Draco couldn't stand her, or so it had appeared for as long as they'd all known each other. Ron forced his gaze away from his partner's blasé expression. Persephone's tag hung at hip level, somehow sporting her trademark fuchsia sparkles in her name. Xavier's blunt self–proclamation was plastered directly over his sternum. "Never mind. We'll talk later," Ron promised. "Meet us back here in, say, an hour?"  
  
"Certainly," Draco drawled, before eyeing his young companions. "Xavier, I expect you to be on your best behaviour."  
  
"I will!" The boy snuck his fingers into Persephone's palm as she looked down at him in surprise. "I can show you where the good lolly machines are," he said conspiratorially.  
  
"Lolly?" she asked, her glance darting up as Draco smartly turned and walked toward the stairs.  
  
"Candy," Ron translated, moving his charges off to the side as an irate Witch began a tirade against the defenceless receptionist. "Let's get this tour started, shall we?"  
  
"You met Uncle Ron because you were in hospital with a Quidditch injury," Xavier pronounced. "And even though we're distantly related, that doesn't mean we couldn't get married some day."  
  
There was a pregnant pause as the trio waited for the lift.  
  
"No, but I haven't even had a boyfriend yet," Persephone pointed out, looking seriously at Xavier before turning and giving Ron an exasperated, 'make him stop' plea with her eyes.  
  
"Xave, Seph's here to go to Hogwarts, and see what it's like to live in England. I suspect she's far more interested in the newest model Skyrunner than blokes right now, aren't you?" Ron asked her pointedly as the bell chimed, announcing the lift's arrival.  
  
"I suppose."  
  
Ron's imagination flashed forward. He saw Xavier, aged fourteen; as clever as Percy, handsome as Bill, and loony over girls. _Merlin's hairy balls._ How would he cope with Xave's romantic entanglements, especially since he would grow up being influenced by Draco? His mind spun as they clustered in the lift and Ron pushed the button for the fourth floor.  
  
"You gave Uncle Ron and Uncle Draco that book with the boys in love." Xavier smiled prettily, still clutching Persephone's hand. She looked both amused and embarrassed.  
  
"I think we're going to have to have a family talk when we get home," Ron said as calmly as he could. "Xavier, you've been to St. Mungo's a lot. Too many times, if you ask me. Please just let me show Seph around, okay? And quit telling her things she already knows," he said, exasperated. "I could send you over to Wheezes. George loves having you around to help—"  
  
"No! I'll be quiet!" Xavier was obviously blinking back tears, but he refused to let any fall.  
  
"It's cool, really," Persephone said, hooking her thumb through a front belt loop. "Better than being back home, that's for sure."  
  
"Let me know if it ever isn't," Ron insisted as they stepped into the corridor. "You're our guest—"  
  
"I'm family," she interrupted, grinning at him. "Xavier, be my hero and find me a water fountain. I'm thirsty."  
  
Watching Xavier lead Persephone down the corridor, Ron shook his head, incredulous at the path his life had taken.  
  
*** * * * ***  
  
Ron marveled at the patterns on the glass ceiling above him as he drifted on his back, a tumbler of scotch charmed to float nearby. Of all the rooms in the Manor, the pool appeared to have the most neutral feel to it, most likely due to the fact that it'd been shut up for the last few years of the War. Ron was in the water now because he couldn't sleep. After some cajoling and Remus seeming to resort to all sorts of private promises, George had agreed to put on what had been an absolutely spectacular fireworks display for New Year's Eve. George particularly despised the Manor, but Xavier had begged to have the event out there, insisting that Persephone should be shown around the vast house and estate, which also had grounds that could more than accommodate a showcase of Wildfire Whiz–Bangs. Despite the ridiculous hour of early morning, Ron had found himself unable to sleep, thoughts about Harry relentlessly spinning through his head. His frustration level had increased listening to Draco's deep breathing. Eventually, he left their room as quietly as possible and headed for the pool.  
  
He'd hoped the warm water and alcohol would dull his thoughts, but they refused their never ceasing loop. Harry was dead years ago; Ron usually wasn't like this. Even Snape had pointed out that since Persephone's arrival, Xavier hadn't mentioned a single Harry appearance. So why couldn't Ron shake himself loose from what was becoming an obsession?  
  
A small splash at the shallow end startled Ron and he dropped his legs to be upright in the water, shaking his head to get the wet hair out of his eyes.  
  
"Ron! What are you doing here?" Draco asked, his voice echoing in the cavernous room.  
  
"Couldn't sleep," Ron replied, swimming breaststroke to get over to where Draco sat on the edge of the pool, looking tired and cross.  
  
"So you decided to lounge about in the pool? Why not just go to the library? There's liquor in there, too," he said with a sigh as Ron's glass perched itself on a tile. "Not that you need it."  
  
Ron shrugged, ignoring the barb and feeling suddenly exhausted. "This room feels safer. I didn't think I woke you up. Why'd you come looking for me?"  
  
Draco rubbed at his temple, his pale hair askew and smudgy circles under his eyes. "Because I'm used to sleeping with you, and I woke up and you weren't there. I really don't think it's that odd that I'd want to know where you are if not asleep next to me, which is where you're supposed to be." He looked intently at Ron, who began to feel both guilty and put upon. "Are you okay? You've never had problems sleeping before."  
  
Ron hauled himself up the ladder, accepting a white towel with a monogrammed 'M' at one corner. "I don't know, really," he said resignedly, drying off and looking around for his pyjama bottoms until he remembered he'd transfigured them into the bathing suit he was currently wearing.  
  
"Come back to bed and talk to me," Draco insisted, tightening the sash on his jade silk bathrobe.  
  
"Okay." Ron refilled his tumbler under Draco's challenging gaze.  
  
"No sense in you continuing to drink alone. Care to offer me some?" Draco cocked an eyebrow.  
  
"Uh, sure."  
  
Draco made an annoyed "hmph" noise and retrieved the bottle. _"Nox,"_ he called into the air, aiming his wand at a row of lamps on the far wall. Captivated by the elegant motion of Draco's hand, his creamy skin exposed as the sleeve slid down to his elbow, Ron grasped at Draco's arm. He pulled the slender wrist to his lips and kissed it.  
  
"You're really not all right, are you?" Draco said with concern, looking at Ron as though he had something contagious.  
  
"No, Draco. I'm not," Ron said heavily, letting go of Draco's arm. "Not that you should worry."  
  
Draco rolled his eyes.  
  
When they were back in the bedroom, Draco yawned. "This has to do with Potter," he pronounced.  
  
"Yes. Well, no, not exactly," Ron hedged. He and Draco had vowed to be honest with each other, but coming out and talking about the storm of thoughts and unresolved feelings all to do with another man made him terribly uncomfortable.  
  
Draco slid down on to his side, leaning his head on his hand and looking like a male pin–up despite being tired. "Ron. You weren't a virgin when we got together, and you and Potter were best friends until he was killed. If you cheated on me at this point, I'd be incredibly hurt and probably hex the balls off whoever it was you slept with, but if you've got something to work out from the past, for Merlin's sake, just tell me!"  
  
Ron blinked against Draco's barrage of caring, but insistent words. "I had a thing for Harry," he choked out before taking a gulp of scotch. "I've never told anybody before. Certainly not him."  
  
"That's it?" Draco was incredulous.  
  
"What do you mean, that's it?" Ron snapped. "That was a pretty bloody major deal, being in love or lust or something not normal with your best friend, but not ever able to say anything, because he wouldn't understand. No. No matter how many times he swore we shouldn't keep secrets, there was just this one, huge, unbelievable thing I couldn't tell him. And then he had to go and fucking die." He breathed heavily for a few minutes before looking over at Draco. "That doesn't mean I don't love you, you know," he said. "Merlin, I feel like such a wanker."  
  
"I'd been in love before you, as shocking as that may seem." Draco blew the fringe out of his eyes, reaching for the tumbler. "That's not to belittle your feelings, or your apparently vast amount of guilt." After a sip, he continued, "I think you need to let some of that go."  
  
"You're not jealous or anything?"  
  
Draco reached over to cup Ron's chin in his hand, looking patiently at him. "Think about how much of my life I spent analysing and loathing Potter. Until I left the Death Eaters, that is."  
  
"A lot?"  
  
"Too much. Not a queer streak in him, Ron. Bit of a shame, really. Merlin knows I had my share of Potter–centric wanks, especially before Quidditch matches. I'd rough up that tight arse–"  
  
"I don't think I want to hear any more," Ron said with a shudder.  
  
"Fine." With languid grace, Draco moved their glass and insinuated himself next to Ron, chest to chest, his palm stroking Ron's lower back. "All I'm saying is that even if you had told Harry, I don't think he would've acted on it, being who he was." Draco's long fingers smoothed over Ron's buttocks in a comforting circle. "Our backgrounds are rather different, but in some ways, you and I were cut from similar cloth. Look, it's not in my nature to obsess about what you did or didn't do before we began seeing each other. But your happiness, or non–miserableness, anyway, is something that I care about a great deal. Why don't we take Xavier and go to Potter's grave and you can tell him? Maybe then you won't feel like it's some big unresolved issue. Because you can brood like no one else."  
  
Ron closed his eyes, hearing the blood pulsing in his head as it did when he was liminally inebriated. Go talk to Harry, in public? At his gravesite? Maybe Draco was on drugs; every once in a while Ron had suspicions that Draco had secretly ingested some illicit substances he'd learned how to make during the War. Not that Ron was one to say anything. Cauldron, meet kettle.  
  
"Xavier will think I'm a nutter. Not only that, but I've been pointing out to him that nobody can see or talk to Harry because he's gone." Ron slowly opened his eyes. "What's he going to think if I go and chat up a dead person?"  
  
"What's more important to me is what you think," Draco said simply, moving his arm up Ron's back to nestle their bodies together. "Why don't you sleep on it." He nuzzled his nose against Ron's before placing a chaste, lingering kiss on Ron's lips. "It's a new year. New beginnings, all that sentimental rot. For now, I want you to turn over so I can hold you and for us both to get some sleep."  
  
"Okay." Ron returned the kiss, giving Draco a faint smile as he rolled on to his side, his back to Draco's chest. Within a few moments he was asleep, Draco's reassuring breath brushing against his neck.  
  
*** * * * ***  
  
A week and a half went by. Ron was given two new patients, both victims of domestic traumas instigated by New Year's rituals. Draco threw himself back into his owl–order dessert business, spending much of his time during the day with Severus and Xavier. Ron noticed that Draco didn't bring up the graveyard conversation topic again, and breathed a sigh of relief. Xave, on the other hand, was more keen than ever to make boxy homes for the caterpillars he hoped would turn into butterflies, constantly drawing pictures of a butterfly aviary that rivaled the Forbidden Forest in size.  
  
On top of all of that, there was the fact that Persephone would be starting Hogwarts in another week, and needed a few rounds of introduction before dropping in halfway through the school year.  
  
"Seph!" Ron bellowed into the cacophony of a busy mid–morning at Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. "Time to go!"  
  
He stood in the archway that proclaimed **_Here Be Mayhem: Weasleys Only_** ; behind him was a small work area with benches piled high with feathers, two boxes of what appeared to be rumbling green sand, and myriad other colourful items Ron couldn't begin to guess at. There was also a kitchen in the corner, and a fireplace connecting them to a select part of the Floo network. He knew their destination would certainly be included in George's permitted routes.  
  
"Your store is wicked!" Persephone gushed to George, who escorted her back to Ron and Draco. Draco was running his finger along a Slytherin House striped strangling necktie with a look of focused interest.  
  
"Why, thank you, m'dear. You're a woman of fine taste."  
  
A flush suffused Persephone's cheeks and she tightened her grip on his arm. After New Year's her crush had shifted from Draco to George, despite his equal inaccessibility. "Yeah, right. Hey, I'll let you know as soon as I can about the House thing, okay?"  
  
"You'd better."  
  
"House thing?" Ron asked, giving George an exasperated look as he draped an Extendable Ear around her like a necklace.  
  
"She'll get sorted. Can't be at Hogwarts and not belong to a House. Well Seph, best of luck. Xavier and I will anxiously await your return."  
  
Persephone blushed a darker red as Ron heard Draco make a low chuckle behind him. "You won't, either. Bye!" She patted the fleshy string and shook her head before looking up at Ron. "He's so cool. Wish I could've known Fred, too."  
  
"They were their own force of nature," Ron said ruefully.  
  
"Terrorists," Draco declared, tossing the tie on the back of a nearby chair. "Off we go. You've Flooed before, I take it?"  
  
She wrinkled her nose in distaste. "Yeah, but I don't like it. Especially with my accent, I'm afraid I'll end up in somebody's blocked fireplace." A look of panic flashed across her face. "That can't happen, can it?"  
  
"No, no, I'm sure it can't," Ron reassured her as Draco furrowed his brows at the blatant untruth. "There's no way to Apparate to Hogwarts, otherwise we could go that way."  
  
"We're all in possession of brooms," Draco pointed out, scooping a palmful of Floo powder.  
  
"I'll be fine," Persephone said defiantly. "What do I say?"  
  
"'Remus' Office.'" Ron gave her a reassuring smile. "I'll go first, then you, then Draco, who will listen carefully."  
  
Draco nodded imperceptibly as Ron moved to stand in the fireplace. Moments later they were all in the office of Professor R. J. Lupin, though he was nowhere to be found.  
  
"Wow. He likes books, doesn't he?" Persephone gaped at the stacks of tomes, some in bookcases, some in nearly toppling, rainbow hued stacks.  
  
"Seems to be the case," Draco said dryly, steering her toward the door. "It's a shame you weren't able to have a proper introduction to Hogwarts."  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"You're supposed to take the train, then sit in these tiny, wretched boats and approach this massive castle from the lake. Makes quite an impression."  
  
Ron looked askance at Draco as they made their way to the Headmistress' office. "Even on you? I thought you were too worldly to be impressed, even as a First Year."  
  
"Obviously, you didn't know me very well."  
  
"I despised you."  
  
"Yes, you did. The feeling was mutual."  
  
Persephone snorted at their banter. "What is it about your family that you guys marry opposites?"  
  
"Opposites?" Ron paused in front of the gargoyle, trying to remember what Remus had said the current password was to get in to see Professor McGonagall.  
  
"Definitely. George and Remus? So different from each other, but cute. Ginny and Neville? I don't really know them, but, yeah. Not alike. He's so quiet! And you two. Seems to be a requirement that you end up with somebody not like you at all."  
  
"Ron and I are alike in several key ways, thank you very much," Draco said imperiously.  
  
"Black watch," Ron said to the statue and a door appeared behind it. He turned around to Persephone. "C'mon, then."  
  
The three rode the wooden staircase, Persephone looking more and more nervous. "Don't you think I'll end up in Gryffindor? Being a Weasley?"  
  
"I have every belief that Xavier will be Slytherin." Draco smirked.  
  
"No way," Persephone said, her eyes wide. "George said—"  
  
"George talks all sorts of rubbish," Ron said hurriedly, hoping to avoid a family row in front of his former Head of House. "It's only for one term, no matter what House you're in."  
  
The solid oak door stood impassively in front of them, and Ron used the knocker to announce their presence.  
  
"Come in!" Minerva McGonagall's voice rang smartly from the room.  
  
Ron gently nudged Persephone's shoulder as the door opened. "McGonagall's great," he said in her ear. "A bit stodgy on the outside, but she did some unbelievably brave and downright nasty stuff during the War."  
  
"Compliment noted, Mr. Weasley."  
  
Ron looked appropriately startled. "Headmistress. Good to see you again. This is Persephone Weasley."  
  
"Nice to meet you," Persephone said, walking into the center of the room. It was obvious she wanted to stare at the portraits and many tantalisingly foreign objects in cabinets lining the walls, but she focused her attentions on the Headmistress, who was making notes on a scroll of parchment.  
  
"Our second–ever exchange student. What a pleasure." Minerva, her silver hair bound in its usual bun, stood and strode around her desk to shake Persephone's hand. "I'd like to escort you around the castle and grounds, if that's permissible to Messrs Weasley and Malfoy." Her gaze flickered up to Draco, who nodded in assent.  
  
"Is it all right if we take a wander ourselves?" Ron asked, an edge of uncertainty in his voice. It had been several years since he'd been back at the school. Like snatches of a dream that snuck into his consciousness hours later, feelings and memories were nudging at him; nothing specific, but he knew himself well enough to recognise that they wouldn't stay suppressed for long.  
  
"That's fine by me," she replied in her crisp brogue. "No students about, of course, except those who stayed for the holidays. Why don't you return in an hour? After we discover where the Sorting Hat will place her, of course."  
  
"You can just do that? Now?" Persephone cleared her throat, straightening her shoulders as though to shake off any apprehension she felt.  
  
"Yes. Please sit on this." Minerva gestured with her wand and a rickety three–legged stool skidded across the floor, stopping behind Persephone, who slowly lowered herself down. She tugged at her hooded sweatshirt, emblazoned with her high school Quidditch team logo across the front. The Headmistress retrieved the battered Sorting Hat from its perch in a corner before returning to stand in front of Persephone, who was nervously pulling hair behind her ears. "I trust that you've been told what the Houses are?"  
  
"She's been living at The Burrow," Draco drawled, lounging against a bookcase. "You can imagine the unbiased overview she's received about the four illustrious Hogwarts Houses."  
  
Minerva snapped her head toward Draco, regarding him with a focused stare. "I would have expected you to provide some contrary opinions to the gaggle of Gryffindors into which you've insinuated yourself."  
  
Draco inclined his head graciously. "Professor McGonagall, truer words were never said."  
  
A ghost of a smile winged across the Headmistress' face as she raised the hat.  
  
"What, no song?" Ron burst out.  
  
"We're not at a feast," Draco reminded him.  
  
"Oh. Right."  
  
Minerva set the hat down on Persephone's ginger hair. There was a collective holding of breath as a few seconds ticked by. At last, the ancient hat spoke.  
  
"Weasley you are, true enough, but with generosity like yours, it could only be– Hufflepuff!"  
  
Persephone's shoulders sagged. "Thanks," she mumbled, taking the hat off and handing it back to the Headmistress.  
  
Minerva looked pityingly at her. "I've noticed you appear to be a fan of Quidditch. I don't suppose you play?"  
  
"I love to! That's how I met Ron! I mean, I was in the hospital because I'd gotten whacked during a game and the receptionist thought he was my relative. Quidditch is excellent."  
  
"Ah." The Headmistress thoughtfully pursed her lips. "Well, it so happens that yesterday I received a most distressing letter from the mother of one of the Hufflepuff chasers, Wyck Bowerfind. He's contracted a nasty case of bloodcurdle and will be out for the term, most likely. You'd need to try out, of course, but I suspect that your new Housemates would be especially grateful to discover that you have some skills in that area."  
  
"Really? Cool!" Persephone stood up so quickly the stool clattered to the floor. She quickly turned and righted it. "I don't mind Hufflepuff, really. As long as they don't think it's a pain having me. You've never had an American attend before, have you?"  
  
"You're blazing new ground, Seph," Ron said fondly, walking over and hugging her around one shoulder. "There's heaps to see, so we'll let you get on with it. Even I've never been to the Hufflepuff common room– you'll have to tell me what it's like. See you down in the Great Hall in a while."  
  
"Okay." A wide smile blazed on her face. "Thanks, you guys."  
  
"You gentlemen know your way around. I'll expect you no later than noon."  
  
Draco and Ron turned to leave the room when a niggling detail surfaced in Ron's mind.  
  
"Professor, what's the password to get into the dormitory?"  
  
Minerva glanced down at Persephone, noticing the Extendable Ear. Rolling her eyes heavenward, she placed her hands over Persephone's ears. "Already been to Wheezes, I suppose."  
  
"Worse– she's formed a crush on George, who's milking it for all he's worth." Draco smirked.  
  
"Selkies and sorcerers." Minerva looked steadily at Ron. "It's 'bezoar.' Do you require yours, Mr. Malfoy?"  
  
"No. Severus already told me, just in case, but I doubt we'll be heading to the dungeons."  
  
Minerva nodded, removing her hands from Persephone's head. "While your guardians take their leave, I'll just give you a brief overview of the history of Hogwarts."  
  
It wasn't until they were halfway to Gryffindor tower that Ron turned to Draco, apologetic.  
  
"Do you mind going up to my old dorm? We could head out to the Quidditch pitch, if you'd rather. Or even the broom shed."  
  
"Ron. How kinky of you," Draco said, modifying his stride so that he swung his narrow hips. "I love that."  
  
"You would." Ron smirked as they began their ascent up the sets of stairs, the memory of which of the tricky staircases to take seared into his brain.  
  
Draco shrugged. "No, I don't mind at all. I've never been to Gryffindor tower, and it gives me a bit of a thrill, seeing where you spent your private time those years ago."  
  
"Prefect's bathroom was nice, wasn't it?" Ron was overtaken by nostalgia, his attentions captured by the familiar portraits that still lined the walls as he and Draco climbed the final stairs.  
  
"Indeed. Surprising amount of decadence in this school, now that I think about it," Draco said contemplatively.  
  
"S'truth." Ron stopped in front of the portrait to his old haunt. The Fat Lady was delicately snoring, sprawled sideways so that a mound of pearls in her necklace had formed between the hillocks of her breasts.  
  
"She's revolting," Draco winced.  
  
"Hullo!" Ron exclaimed, trying to get the Fat Lady's attention. "Don't mean to bother you, but we'd like to visit for a bit."  
  
She opened her eyes, raising her head to look the two men over. "You're not students," she said sleepily.  
  
"Former students. Bezoar!"  
  
With disgruntled mumblings, the portrait–door swung open.  
  
"It's ridiculous, but I feel like I'm sneaking into an enemy camp," Draco said, clasping Ron's shoulder and rubbing his shoulder blade.  
  
"Would've been if you'd tried this back in school."  
  
"I'd rather think about what it could've been like if I'd walked in on you in the Prefect's bathroom." Draco smoothed his hand down Ron's side to grab at his arse.  
  
"Now who's kinky?" Ron chuckled.  
  
The common room was empty as they passed through. Ron led the way up to his former dormitory, hoping that none of its current occupants would be there. He knocked on the door, paused for a moment, then cracked it open and called, "Anybody here?" For all Ron knew, there was a sound sleeper as Seamus had been. He was met with silence.  
  
Draco nodded toward the room. "Guess it's empty."  
  
It was everything and nothing like when Ron had been in school. The room seemed far smaller than he remembered, but he supposed he'd done a fair bit of growing until he got to be twenty or so. There were different posters on the walls, and unknown witches and wizards in the few picture frames on the bedside tables. The curtains around the beds hadn't changed, but the beds were far tidier than when he'd been an occupant. _House–elves probably cleaned up over the hols,_ it occurred to him.  
  
"So, which one was yours?" Draco ran his fingers along the red bed–hangings of what had been Neville's bed.  
  
"That one, there." Ron pointed across the room to a bed that had a signed poster of the Kestrals next to it.  
  
"Whoever's there now obviously has better taste in teams than you did."  
  
Ron refused to rise to the bait, his attentions drawn magnetically to the bed to the right. Harry's. So many nights next to him, his best mate, through the nightmares, the triumphs, the arguments and resolutions made without words.  
  
"Excuse me for a few, will you?" Draco said, standing behind Ron, threading his arms under Ron's to clasp them together on Ron's abdomen. "Need to use the gents."  
  
"That's fine." Ron turned his head and Draco nuzzled his jaw. As Draco walked off to the bathroom, Ron felt the prickling of tears and blinked several times to try to make them stop. Draco knew him well enough to give him time to be alone, a concept that Harry would've found utterly incomprehensible about Draco.  
  
"If only you'd lived, Harry," Ron said to himself. He walked slowly to the bed, climbing up on it to lie down on his stomach, face pressed sideways into the pillow. "You could've found out he's really not a bastard. Merlin, there's so much I never got to tell you," he whispered, a few tears seeping out unnoticed. "I did fancy you, bloke to bloke. I know you never even thought to see me like that, but I just need to tell you. I should've had a chance to get totally pissed and make a pass at you, have you turn me down, or maybe not. Hell, I don't know how you might have changed. We might've had all kinds of wild sex. Doubt it, though," he sniffed. "I miss you. You were supposed to live, dammit, not have a bloody wing at St. Mungo's named after you." He curled in on himself, holding on to the edge of the pillow as though it were a soft life preserver. "He's so good to me, you just wouldn't believe it." Ron wiped his nose on his sleeve, surprisingly unembarrassed. "Shite, listen to me talking to myself. I'm no better than Xave." A fresh wave of remorse tumbled through him and he began crying in earnest, a noisy combination of sobs, hiccoughs and semi–verbal laments. Ages seemed to pass before he dimly sensed the bed dipping behind him and a warm hand resting on his shoulder.  
  
"Don't s'pose you have a handkerchief," Ron said thickly, sniffling and turning on his back.  
  
Draco produced one with a monogrammed 'M' in the middle. "I make it a point never to go anywhere without clean pants, my wand, and a handkerchief," he said, using the back of his fingers to wipe at the tracks on Ron's cheeks. "My mother did dispense good advice on occasion."  
  
Once Ron had dealt with his nose, he took a deep breath, rolling over to face Draco.  
  
"Feel any better?" Draco carded his fingers through Ron's hair.  
  
"Yeah, some." He reached down and nudged a few fingers past Draco's waistband, wanting to feel his skin and the hard point of his hip. "I didn't think it would hit me like that, so suddenly."  
  
"This is his bed, I take it."  
  
Ron looked at Draco, his expression uncommonly soft and expressive.  
  
"It was. Draco? Please don't die before me."  
  
Draco leaned over and kissed Ron's forehead. "That's certainly not my current plan."  
  
Ron shut his eyes, breathing in Draco's sandalwood scent, and that of the lingering musk exuded by generation after generation of boys. "I think he would've understood, eventually," he said against the silky warmth of Draco's cashmere jumper. "If he was really my true friend, he would have."  
  
"He was really your true friend. I envied that." Draco situated a leg between Ron's shins, and Ron opened his eyes. "You ready to go?"  
  
Ron nodded.  
  
Once at the door, Draco paused before pulling Ron to him. "Thank you for sharing that."  
  
Ron gave him a rib–crushing hug, trying to convey his neediness and gratitude as he held on. "Miserable without you," Ron murmured as Draco rubbed the nape of his neck.  
  
"I'm not going anywhere."  
  
Ron threaded his sturdy fingers through Draco's. As they walked down the stairs, a sense of tranquility nestled in his chest. Ron knew it would pass, but he savoured the feeling nonetheless. He'd never forget Harry, but maybe he'd stop wondering what might have happened. A gentle squeeze from Draco reminded him of just how fortunate he was, and he returned the affection.  
  
"All mine be thine," Ron said, quoting the inscription on his handfasting band.  
  
"All mine be thine."  
  


*** * * * * * ***


End file.
